It's Sunday night, and it's not unusual for me to head to the cinema. This
week,
based on a novel by Sarah Waters, it's
The Little Stranger. The trailer (below) paints a picture of a spooky mystery; an evil presence
in an old, run-down house.
The movie left me cold. It feels like a slow-burner that's going to kick off any minute, and then after a little less than two hours it just stops. There a a couple of moments that are seemingly intended to shock, but delivered so matter-of-factly, so stoic, British, stiff-upper-liply they barely moved me at all, other than to think "great, it's getting started now." But no. Back to plodding along until the next mildly unnerving moment in an otherwise sedentary story.
I had a lovely one hundred and eleven minute sit down, with each scene's background wonderfully evocative of post- World War II middle England: dreary and grey but somehow beautiful at the same time. There's some fantastic imagery surrounding the house, too: it's a gorgeous gothic mansion in the flashback scenes, a vibrant backdrop to a young and happy family; and then in the present day it's as dilapidated and unkempt as the older-than-their-years remnants that are fighting a losing battle on the inside.
None of this, however, detracts from the fact that it just doesn't give what the trailer promises. There are hints of ghost story, but this never develops into anything. A tease of family madness, but this, too is left largely unexplored. A dark past that's hinted at all too briefly and then left unresolved.
Maybe I missed something. Should I read the book?
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